


Time tries Truth

by eiramew



Series: Cold War Dynamics [2]
Category: Iron Lady (2011), Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: A VERY bad idea, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, It's a very bad idea..., Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6579028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiramew/pseuds/eiramew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot of things happened during the Downing Street years...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something to learn

Margaret Thatcher/Queen Elizabeth II _   
_

1980  


 

The day had been worse than Margaret had imagined. She hated Balmoral. She hated the dank Scottish weather. She hated all these stupid rambles the Queen enjoyed to do.  
She missed London, Denis and most of all: her work.  
The Prime Minister started to sob of frustration. At least, her tears remained hidden from everyone. Margaret sat on her bed and punched a pillow, more by despair than by real anger. 

''I hate this place...'' She ranted. ''I hate walking through the mud, I hate to wear those awful rubber boots, I hate the hunt, I even hate the food...'' She sighed for a long time, trying to collect herself. 

''Mrs Thatcher?'' Oh no, not her. ''Margaret?''

The Prime Minister felt obliged to answer. It would have been seen as an outrage if she didn't opened the door. 

''Your Majesty?'' The Queen was only wearing a light dressing gown despite the coldness of the night.

''It's past midnight... You can call me Elizabeth.'' Margaret didn't move.

''As you wish, Your Majesty.'' The Queen spotted the wetness of her Prime Minister's eyes. 

''I heard someone crying in the corridor. What it you, Margaret?'' She blushed.

''Of course not!'' Elizabeth smiled.

''There's nothing to be ashamed of. I know you hate this place, I heard you.'' Thatcher took a step back, like if the Queen had punched her right in her stomach. Her voice began to quiver, which seemed quite surprising to Elizabeth.

''Oh... I think my gripe was very selfish. I beg your pardon, Majesty, I'm truly sorry.'' 

''Don't be, my dear.'' She paused for a moment and eyed Margaret. She looked tired, lost and, for the very first time, _vulnerable._

''Tell me what's wrong.''

'Nothing, Your Majesty.'' The Queen shook her head and took Margaret by the hand, leading her to the bed where they sat together. 

'It's just...'' The Prime Minister started. ''It's just that I miss London...'' Elizabeth stoked Thatcher's perfectly blow-dried hair. To Margaret's surprise, the contact was rather pleasant.

''You mean you don't like to take some weeks of holidays?''

''Not really...'' The Prime Minister admitted.

''Is it only because you don't like to be stuck with me for two weeks?'' The Queen's fingers started to run along her cheek, making Margaret flush and smile for the very first time since they're arrived at the castle. 

''It's not this, You Majesty. I feel useless staying here while my ministers need me.''

''They're grown-ups Margaret. They can survive without you for some days I assume.''

''I wouldn't bet...'' Elizabeth laughed softly. 

''You have to learn how to enjoy life, my dear.'' The Prime Minister arched an eyebrow. ''Lay on the bed, Margaret.''

She obeyed hesitantly and watched the monarch with a hint of puzzled apprehension. Elizabeth kneeled beside her and began to unbutton Thatcher's nightdress.

''Wh...What are you doing?''

''Don't say a word my dear. I'm going to show you something.'' The Queen enjoyed her position of power over her Prime Minister, and she was utterly determined to test her limits tonight. Her fingers slid inside of the light fabric and removed carefully Margaret's dress. Her thin body was almost fully exposed to the Queen's eyes. Thatcher quickly folded her arms on her breast, her face turning a violent shade of red. 

''Don't do this, Margaret. Let me see how beautiful you are.'' She removed her hands and swallowed hard. _What is she up to? Does she do this to every new Prime Minister visiting Balmoral for the first time?_ Her fingers moved to her stomach and began to stroke gently her body. Margaret closed her eyes and tried desperately to find an explanation. As if the Queen had read through her mind, she murmured: ''Stop thinking so much. Just... feel.'' And as she spoke, Elizabeth leant towards her Prime Minister's face and kissed her, mildly at first, but as she felt Margaret reciprocating shrinkingly, she opened her mouth and sustained the kiss. Her body moved over the Iron Lady while their lips were still locked. Thatcher let out a small groan of pleasure and broke the kiss when she felt the Queen's hands seizing her waist and stroking her hips. 

''But what if someone - ''

''Shhhh. Trust me, Margaret.'' The Prime Minister acquiesced and smiled shyly. The Queen stroked gently her hair and whispered: ''Your hands.''. Thatcher realized that she had covered her cleavage again. ''You're marvellous, dear, look at you.'' Elizabeth drew a line from her chin to her navel and heard the soft moans of her Prime Minister. She smiled and let her hand wandering lower, taking with her the lacy knickers. Thatcher shivered as she felt the Queen's fingers teasing between her legs. The monarch went for her neck and nipped softly the smooth skin. Margaret grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer. It felt so good having the Queen of England biting her neck while Thatcher was digging her nails in her skin. Elizabeth's fingers slid gently into her and her thumb began to circle her clit. The Prime Minister moaned loudly and responded by rocking her hips.

''Good girl'' The Queen whispered, and the Iron Lady blushed, both by embarrassment and pride. She couldn't decide if it was good or bad to do it. To do _this._ At least, she was certain of one thing: she was enjoying it. Once the astonishment passed, she had discovered how methodic and talented the monarch was. Thatcher was moaning more and more audibly and she had to bite the Queen's neck to prevent the scream of pleasure teasing the back of her throat. Elizabeth felt her clenching around her fingers and shaking under her body. She didn't move until the end of Margaret's orgasm. She spotted a shy tear shining briefly on the corner of her Prime Minister's eyes and leant towards her to kiss her forehead. 

''I hope you've learned something today.'' Margaret nodded willingly. The Queen stood up and kissed Thatcher one more time. 

''Now, think about it and have some rest. I'll see you in the morning. Good night, my dear.'' Margaret was on the verge of asking her to stay but she didn't. She needed company but she knew that sleeping with the Queen, even if she agreed, would have been a mistake. She watched her making her way to the door. 

''Oh and, Margaret, I know how you hate being given some advices, but don't forget I can help you on _some points._ '' The Iron Lady smiled mischievously. The Queen was right. She hated to be told how to act, but some _royal advices_ might be a great help.

 


	2. A taste of liberalism

Margaret Thatcher/Pierre Trudeau

1983

 

There was wine on the big table set for the G7 summit. Men love wine, and apparently, Pierre Trudeau wasn't an exception to the rule. Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the Bible says 'love your enemy', anyway. _*_.  
There was too much wine actually. Margaret wished she had said something about it, especially now that the Canadian Prime Minister was pinning her against the wall of her luxurious American bedroom. She drank too, of course, but certainly not as much as he did.  
  
  


''Margaret..'' He whispered in her ear while she was trying to get rid of his wandering hands. ''Margaret...'' He kissed her with a delicacy that astonished her. She surrendered to him for a moment and broke the kiss.

''I'm sorry Pierre, I can't do this.'' He grabbed her waist, rougher than he intended to. 

''Come on, I'm a divorced man and you're a - ''

''A _married_ woman'' She cut him short. ''And you're not even divorced yet.'' 

''Frankly, Margaret, Denis is miles away... And I'm right in front of you!'' His hand began to stroke her thigh but this time, she didn't try to stop him. 

''I'm _aware_ if this, thank you Mr Trudeau.'' His other hand went for her breast and squeezed gently. She still didn't move. In some ways, he reminded her of Denis: always careful, even under the influence of alcohol. 

''I love you, Margaret.'' He hissed against her neck. He was drunk, no doubt about it, but for a moment, she wondered if he referred to his former wife, herself or both. 

''Mmmmm? I think you need a big glass of water. And a cold shower. As soon as possible.'' He seized her skirt and lifted it up quickly. 

''Pierre!'' She yelped. ''Stop it!'' His fingers brushed her crotch, making her blush all of a sudden. 

''Look at how wet you are.'' He smirked. ''Dare to tell me you don't want it.'' He kneeled in front of her, grabbed her legs and kissed her belly through the fabric of her blouse.

''Aller, Margaret. Let me show you some spécialités canadiennes.'' The British Prime Minister sighed and smiled almost kindly, on the verge of surrendering herself. 

''If you're talking about those _French kisses_ , je suis déjà au courant, merci.'' Trudeau grinned and shook his head.

''Oh, it's much better than this...'' He reached the zip of her skirt, opened it and let the soft material fall on the floor. The silky knickers joined it a few seconds later and Margaret couldn't help the sharp moan distorting her mouth as she felt his lips against her inner thighs. He parted her legs and went for her cunt. His tongue teased her mercilessly while his artful fingers ran along her hips. She felt her knees weakening and her heart pounding abnormally. Pierre maintained her thighs with an outstanding strength and teased harder. He was good at doing this. Very good, in fact. Thatcher moaned loudly and caught the corner of the table beside her.  
She came abruptly and tumbled literally on the floor as soon as the Prime Minister released her legs. She managed to catch her breath and looked up. He smirked again.

''I hope this wasn't too much for you, _Prime Minister._ '' She eyed the bulge of his trousers and seized it, looking right into his eyes as he jumped. 

''It certainly wasn't _too much_ for me, but let's see if you can handle this, _Prime Minister._ '' His fly surrendered easily to her nimble fingers and his hardness didn't surprise her as she freed his cock. Pierre was somewhat disconcerted by the way she turned the tide: quick, methodic and effective. Very similar to her politic, he felt obliged to admit to himself. She took him in her hand, stroked it a few times, and wrapped her mouth around it, going all the way down in one stroke. He groaned loudly and held his hips to prevent the jerks witnessing his lack of patience.  
Her mouth began to move faster, taking him deeper into her throat. His hands clenched in her hair tightly as she tugged and swirled her tongue, moving her head up and down. She bit him, not hard enough to hurt him, but to remind him who's in charge now. He got the message rather easily and released her hair with a small grunt of frustration quickly replaced by moans of pleasure as she increased her speed.

'' I can't believe I'm being given a blowjob by a fucking Tory!'' Margaret stopped immediately and pulled him back, but he came at the same time, right in front of her. 

''What the hell?!'' She shouted. ''What did you just say?!'' He watched her for a moment. She looked good, with cum on her face. 

''Nothing, just wanted to thank you.'' The Canadian said, smiling. Thatcher stood up and wiped her face.

''You stupid brainless socialist!'' He laughed – not feeling offended at all – and licked his lips.

''You know, I thought that the _conservateurs**_ tasted worst than that...'' She couldn't help her face blushing at his bad pun. 

''Very funny.'' He collected himself while she put her skirt on. 

''Well'' He said, resting his shoulder against the wall. ''See you tomorrow then?'' She threw him a cold glance.

''I don't think so. Our plane takes off at 6am.''

'' _Our_ plane?''

''I leave with Mr Mitterrand.'' Trudeau grinned.

''Lucky him.'' She pursed her lips and showed the door.

''Now, leave. I have some _serious_ work to do. '' The Canadian Prime Minister smiled.

''À plus tard, Margaret.'' She didn't reply and closed the door behind him. 

-

She was surprised to see him, although he was barely awake. They shook hands next to the plane and she couldn't help to smile as he tried to hide a yawn. 

''Some of us need a few hours of sleep, I guess...'' She joked. 

''I did a nightmare.'' Pierre replied. ''I dreamt I became the Tory leader and I was losing the elections.'' Thatcher rolled her eyes.

''They should give you a medal for your humour...'' 

''Oh, they did better. They made me Prime Minister.'' She sighed and shook her head. 

''Goodbye Mr Trudeau.'' He smiled and kept her hand a little longer than is strictly proper.

''Goodbye, Margaret.''

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*From a quote of Frank Sinatra_  
>  ** _In French,_ conservateur _means both Tory and food preservative (hahaha...)_  
>  Apparently, Pierre Trudeau was known to have a very special sense of humour... I did my best ;)


	3. Every breaking wave

Margaret Thatcher x Neil Kinnock

1987

It started with a joke, maybe, a few days before Christmas and after a lively debate. He asked her to share a Christmas cracker with him. She smiled and agreed, for once. They grabbed and pulled each part, and she got the full one. He joked that she took the biggest part, as usual. She replied that she won, as usual.  
It started with a joke, maybe, but it drove them into that meaningless hotel-room.  
Who seized hold of who first was completely irrelevant. They found themselves plunged into bruising but exciting clash of hands, mouths and teeth. She bit his lips, hard enough to make him bleed. Kinnock grabbed her roughly and swore. ''Bitch!'' Margaret got free from his hands and slapped him. ''Think twice before calling the Prime Minister a bitch!'' He bared his teeth at her and made a step forward, but she grabbed his tie and pushed him away. Neil felt his back hitting the table behind him, sending the poor flowered vase right on the floor. She slapped him again and smirked. 

''Couldn't you be more careful?'' He pushed her on the bed and leaned over her, but she rolled over him. He grunted and seized her breast. Thatcher smacked him once more and caught his wrists. He tried to shift position but she hooked her legs around his waist. The Prime Minister laughed.

'You see now, Neil, why you never get what you want?' You're far too impatient. You've never wondered why you've lost the two last elections?''

''Eh! He protested. I've only lost one time!'' Margaret shrugged and began to undo his tie.

''I don't care about _who_ lost, Neil. I've won two times. That's all'' She unbuttoned his shirt and placed a hand on his chest. Her growing wicked smile made him swallow hard. ''But you see, my dear, you _might_ win. I'm not saying that you _should_ , but you _might._ '' Her fingers travelled lightly upon his skin. '' Sadly, there're still _that woman_ ahead of you, winning while you're stuck into the dusty shadow cabinet. Such a pity, Neil, isn't it?'' He grabbed suddenly her waist and flipped her on her stomach. She let out a small yelp of surprise. 

''Oh, you can be surprised! '' Kinnock said, his voice betraying his anger and impatience. ''I've had enough of your bloody speeches. You can stick them up your -''

''Fuck you Neil!'' She shouted, wriggling under his hands. 

''Yes, he teased. It's part of my evening plans. But for now...'' He caught the hem of her skirt and rolled it up. He couldn't help his smile of satisfaction as he discovered her lacy black knickers and matching stockings. Thatcher smirked.

''Oh yes, that's it! Take a good look, because I'm sure that's what you daydream about during the Prime Minister question time! Tell me, Neil, how many times did you wondered what I was wearing under my skirts!'' He raised his hand slammed her bottom. She whimpered loudly and clenched the sheets compulsively. Neil decided to play her game. 

''You've no idea how much I wished to stand up and walk toward you. I would have bent over my knees and lifted your skirt up.'' He slammed her butt, hard, and she moaned. ''Oh, you like that, don't you?!'' He teased as he heard her. ''Naughty girl.'' Thatcher tried to get rid of him again, but he kept her in place. 

''Stop that, Kinnock!'' The words fell of her mouth without real conviction. Her breath was uneven and fast. Neil settled her firmly on his lap and whispered into her ear: 

''You know what happen to naughty girls like you, Margaret?'' She twitched.

''Put me down!'' He began to spank her again, but this time, regularly, increasing his strength slap after slap. 

''Oh yes, I think you enjoy that. Admit it!'' He slid his fingers through her knickers and started to laugh. ''Ah, you don't even have to say it. I just found the proof!'' She blushed as she felt his fingers sliding deeper. After a few minutes, he finally released her, and she settled immediately on his lap, her belly brushing his obvious erection. 

''Oh. She murmured. I was right. You're far, far too _impatient._ You'd better to learn the value of patience!'' She seized him and started to stroke him up and down. He grabbed the sheets behind him and bit his lips. Margaret smirked. ''It's funny, watching you trying to wage a war against yourself.'' He groaned loudly. ''If you come now, I'll be very disappointed. And you don't want me to be disappointed, do you, my dear?'' He swallowed with difficulty and tried to focus his mind somewhere else. His poor Labour Party going down? The helpless Roy Hattersley, trying to scoop the sinking boat as he can?  
Thatcher didn't give him the chance anyway. She stood up for a second and then dropped bluntly on his cock, taking him inside all the way down. He hissed sharply and seized instinctively her thighs. ''Shit...'' Margaret smiled wickedly and began to rise and fall on his lap. He placed his hands on her breasts, asking silently her permission. She nodded and pushed him till he laid completely on the bed. The Prime Minister watched Kinnock biting his lips as she dug her nails in his shoulders, and began to laugh.  
Neil felt suddenly more humiliated as ever, forced to stay motionless while she was riding him without any hint of tenderness. After years of disillusioned expectations, he was still eager for revenge. This night was _his_ night. Not hers. Not another Margaret's victory.  
His adrenaline rate increased quickly as she moved against him, and he finally caught her – by the waist and by surprise – and rolled her beneath him. She grabbed his forearms and yelped. ''Neil !'' 

He understood too late, and they both fell roughly on the cold floor. Her head banged against the bedside table and his knee hit the wooden edge of the bed. They swore at the same time and he spotted a small streak of blood running out of her nose. 

''Shit Margaret, I'm sorry...'' She wiped her face and rolled her eyes.

''Stop apologizing for everything. No wonder why you're such a bad politician.''

''Fuck you.'' She smirked.

''Yeah? I'm still waiting...'' He kissed her fiercely and stroked her hair. His hips began to rock again, but she complained. 

''Seriously Neil? On the bloody floor?'' He smiled, almost tenderly.

'If it's too uncomfortable for you, I can suggest you to _lie back and_ _think of England_ till I'm finished...'' 

''Very funny.'' She grumbled, but after a few thrusts, she was moaning and panting again. Neil groaned as he felt her legs winding around his waist.  
She came abruptly and bit his wrist as he pushed a last time between her thighs, reaching his peak a couple seconds later. He collapsed in her arms and they remained motionless for a while. Margaret eventually found out that she was cuddling him while his face nuzzled against her neck. 

''Neil?'' She whispered softly.

''Mmmmm?'' 

''Is it too much to ask to be carried to bed?'' He snorted and stood up laboriously but still took her in his arms. Her nose was bleeding again as he settled her in the bed. 

''Are you okay?'' He asked gently, carefully wiping her face.

''Yes, she smiled. Come here.'' There was no mockery in the way she talked, and he obeyed willingly. Even if she was known as someone who does not sleep a lot, she still fell asleep in his arms only a few minutes later, as happy as he was. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on fire! 


	4. The Last Stand

Margaret Thatcher/Denis Thatcher  
1991

“ _Now, it's time for a new chapter to open, and I wish John Major all the luck of the world.”_  
The words hurt as she wrote then down on the paper. Her hand was shaking and the glass of whisky by her side, half empty. Margaret took a deep breath and stood up, starting to recite mentally her speech. Her _last speech._ Denis came in and watched her for a while.

''What are you doing, love?'' She stared at him for a moment, and her eyes settled on the several boxes and suitcases dispersed in the bedroom. He understood immediately. ''Oh, I'm sorry... I should leave you alone.''

''No, she said. It's almost midnight, you'd better go to bed.'' He walked toward her and cupped her face tenderly.

''Are you alright?'' He asked softly.

''Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just... fine, Denis.'' But something in her eyes betrayed her. The deep reflections of anger, sadness and pain resurfaced, bringing with them the tears she was constantly trying to hide. Her husband stroked her cheek an brought her face against his shoulder.

''Let go, Margaret.'' She burst into tears and sobbed against him, her hands clenching his forearms hard as she tried to calm down. Denis muttered endearments against her ear as he took off her jacket and began to undo the bow under her chin. Little by little, he managed to remove her garments, letting them spreading on the floor. Her tears have wetted his shirt but he barely noticed. He seized gently her shoulders and led her in front of the mirror next to the bed.

''What do you see?'' He asked softly against her neck, watching her through the glass. Margaret coughed to avoid a tearful voice.

''I see a weak woman, not even able to write a proper farewell speech. I see a betrayed leader stabbed in the back by her closest friends. What else do you want me to see Denis?''

''I see a broken woman, who's gone too far. I see someone who pushed herself to extremes and almost killed herself by doing it. But I don't see my wife. I don't see the woman I married and still love madly... Please, he begged. Come back to me Maggie. Stop all this madness.'' She couldn't help the tears falling down again and turned around to find herself wrapped by his arms.

''I love you so much Denis. I will never thank you enough for all that you've done for me. I .. I want to apologize for all the times I..''

''No, he cut her short. You've got nothing to apologize for. '' She nuzzled against his neck and slid her arms around his waist.

''Thank you.'' He kissed her tenderly and smiled in her perfumed hair.

''My pleasure. Really.'' He led his wife to the bed and settled her under the covers just before joining her.  
They simply laid together. Him, half naked, his body wrapped against hers and his hands stoking gently the curves of her body. Her, only her knickers on, holding him with all her remaining strength and snuggling against his chest. After all the years and all the people she met, Denis always remained the only one she truly loved.  
As she expected, he fell asleep first, but kept her tightly against him. She tried not to think too much and followed his example, her head buried against his neck.

-

Quite surprisingly, Denis awoke first. His wife was still asleep, her bare chest rising with her quiet breaths. He couldn't recall the last time he saw her sleeping, and was totally taken aback at how cute and vulnerable she looked, with her eyes closed and her mind away.  
Margaret eventually woke up, soothed and serene. She smiled to her husband, took a deep breath and glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. She sighed and pressed herself against Denis.

''I can't believe we're leaving today...''

''Shhhh, he whispered softly. Don't think about that. Not now.'' She slid her arms around his waist.

''It happened so fast...''

''I know.''

''Eleven years...'' She sighed again. They both remained silent for a long time until Margaret spoke again.

''Do you remember our first night here?'' She asked pensively. Her husband smiled and stroked her cheek.

''How can I forget this night, Margaret? I can still hear you dancing through the living room: _We won! We won!_ You were so amazed, you couldn't even believe it.'' She huddled against him.

''Do you remember.. how we made love?'' He kissed her forehead.

''The only thing I don't remember about this night is if there's a room we haven't been into...'' She smiled and blushed at his evocation.

''Well, that's probably because there's no room we haven't been into...'' He giggled.

''Even the closet?''

''Yes, but I wasn't very fond of this one. No legs room.'' He laughed and held her tight against him.

''Denis?''

''Mmmmm?'' She blushed.

''Could we...Could we make love? It won't be long, I promise. I'm not expected at Westminster before five... But if you don't feel like it...''

''Are you kidding? He smiled. Do you really think I want to decline an offer like this?'' Her lips curved into a thrilled grin and she pulled him toward her, parting her legs, but he stopped her.

''But Denis, you just said -''

''Listen, Margaret. We've got the entire afternoon, just for us. And I'm not going to rush like a teenager. I'm an old and patient man, and I want this memory to be the best you've ever had. _We've_ ever had.

He's old. She knows that. To be precise, he's not as young as he used to be. She's not very far behind him anyway. Age never bothered neither him nor her. Age is a number. Nothing more.  
She'll always be grateful for his faithfulness. He stood by her side for all those years, and was definitely not decided to let her down now. Margaret always wondered how he did to resist the temptation to betray their _special_ relationship. She has never told him about _the others._ The several – however not that numerous – love affairs she had during the past decade, but she was somehow aware that he _knew._ Denis isn't stupid. He isn't her husband for nothing, after all. He never talked about it, not even made allusion to her romances.

As he eased his head down between her legs, Margaret moaned softly, both by the delicate sensation of of memories and by the pleasure of having his tongue against her skin. His gentle touch was welcomed by her aroused body. She started to breathe a bit heavier and released slight moans, giving hint of the pleasure she was feeling. He nibbled the place where her hip meet her thigh, making his wife whimpering louder. Denis slid three fingers inside, with no warm up (as if she needed it anyway). Margaret arched her back and grabbed her thighs to keep in place. He brushed his thumb over her clit and flexed his fingers, causing his wife to squeak.

''Let go, woman.'' He murmured under his breath as he felt a lasting hint of resistance. ''What are you afraid of? No one's judging you here. It's not about _Prime Minister Mrs Thatcher and her husband._ It's about _Margaret and Denis._ '' She smiled softly and stroked his cheek.

''You're right Den. I just - ''

''Shhh Mag. Come. Come for me. And I'll do anything for you. He rested his head on Margaret's thigh and looked up at her, hoping that she could read the promise in his eyes.  
Anything.  
Everything.  
Thatcher nodded silently. He grinned and kissed her cunt again, flickering his tongue in and out, savouring every second offered to him. Margaret's hands clamped down on his shoulders and her back began to undulate like a wave. Her moans became louder and her voice high-pitched. Dennis buried his face deeper, and she came suddenly, silently and breathlessly. Her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed.

''Oh my... Oh my...'' Vulnerability looked good on her, and Denis decided he wanted more of it. He bent down again.

''Oh'' His wife groaned, opening her eyes wide open. Her hands tightened brutally hard on her husband's shoulders, her whole body curling around his head.

''Don't.'' She paradoxically warned him. He chose to ignore her and carried on. She came again, clenching her fists around the sheets.

''You were saying?'' He teased as she recovered.

''Shut up.'' He smiled. She was almost, _almost,_ fully relaxed. He kissed her belly and rewarded her with a soft ''good girl'' muttered against her skin. Margaret slid her hand down and began to stroke his cock. He grinned and sat back on the bed. She kneeled in front of him and went on all four, giving him a feline look that sent an intense jolt along his spine. She grabbed him and gave the top a little lick at first, gently sliding her hands up and down. Her tongue rubbed against all the right spots and she took him deeper until it pressed the back of her throat. Denis groaned and tangled his fingers in her hair. She moaned around him, and the vibrations of her vocal chords against his cock put him dangerously on the edge. Margaret used her teeth to rub and tease him.  
It had a consequent effect on Denis, who let out a loud moan. She withdrew her mouth, taking her time, licking conscientiously every inch offered to her wet tongue. He came as she broke the contact, and her lips curved into a cat-like grin. Denis watched her slowly wiping off his cum dripping from her mouth, chin and neck, and he felt his cock hardening again. Just by watching her. She cupped gently his face and laid a kiss on his mouth. He slowly pushed her on the mattress, but as he kneeled between her legs, she turned around and offered her back to her husband. Denis was about to say something, but he just remained silent and smiled, captivated by the beauty of her body's curves. He rubbed his cock against her butt, then pushed forward. The tip slid in and Margaret tensed for a second, her back heaving with her quick breaths.  
He pushed again and got rid of the unwitting resistance, his cock sliding deeper. He pulled back a little and then thrust forward again. She whined, letting her head slump down, and Denis grabbed her hips as he pushed harder. His hand slid and reached her clit, making her moaning fiercely. He teased her at first, and then stroked faster and harder as he rocked his hips.  
Margaret grabbed the pillow beside her and bit it with all her might. Her second orgasm took her higher than the stars, and she needed a couple of minutes to go back on earth.  
She slowly opened her eyes and found Denis by her side, stroking her back and smiling tenderly.

''Alright?'' He asked.

''Yes, I suppose I am.'' Thatcher grinned.

''Then go look out the window.'' She leaned over her elbows.

''Why?''

''Just go my dear, you'll see who's waiting for you outside...''

''Who? This usual dirty crowd, full of journalists, hate and resentment. No thanks, I've had enough of that.'' Her husband shook his head.

''Go.'' She got up, walked soundlessly toward the window and barely parted the curtains. The press was here, of course, with their microphones and cameras, but not only. About a hundred of people were massed on the sidewalk in front of 10 Downing Street, reflecting a singular gathering of different ages, genders and social classes. They were here to say goodbye, and something differed from the last time she stood in public. She could almost feel their presence next to her, and in a strange way, she found it quite reassuring.  
She did her duty.  
That's what she always had to do, and that's what she always did. Her duty.  
And now, her time had come. The time to say goodbye and to pass the torch to her successors.  
[ She managed a smile through the window and released the curtain.](http://media.gettyimages.com/photos/british-prime-minister-margaret-thatcher-peeks-at-the-assembled-media-picture-id115092271)  
She turned to her husband and began to recite:

_''Ladies and Gentlemen, we're leaving Downing Street for the last time.''_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked to write this fic because I wanted to deal with 90s Thatcher for a long time :) Hope you liked


	5. A few words for ever desiring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the last chapterrrr! Hope you'll like it ;)  
> Title inspired by _Monday or Tuesday , Virginia Woolf_

 

Margaret Thatcher x Kim Campbell

1991

 

''Shit!'' Kim Campbell swore as her pile of notes fell on the floor. _Shit._ Coming to the UK Tory Party Conference was a brilliant idea. Forgetting her notebook and writing on loose sheets wasn't. The crowd was moving through the alleys and some people stepped on her notes as she was still trying to gather them. _Shit._ She grabbed her pen and looked up. She felt suddenly lonely, the poor little Canadian lost in the great Great Britain. On all four, Kim picked up her sheets, scattered on the thick blue carpet. She was about to catch the last one when a black polished shoe pinned the sheet on the ground. _Shit._

''I noticed that you paid a great attention to this conference. You didn't just come to applause, like everyone else. That's good.''

Kim looked up as she recognised the voice. Margaret Thatcher was standing in front of her, folded arms, and an indifferent smile stretching her mouth. The Canadian panicked and curtseyed awkwardly in front of the former Prime Minister. Margaret laughed and put a hand on Kim's shoulder.

''Oh, there's no need for this. I'm not Her Majesty Herself.'' She blushed fiercely and pursed her lips. 

''I'm sorry Mrs Thatcher. I thought I had to...'' Margaret shook her head, feeling sorry for the other woman.

''And you are?''

''Campbell. Kim Campbell. Canada's Minister of Justice.''

''Oh.'' Thatcher said, not seeming impressed at all. 

''Yes, I... I wanted to see how conservatism works in England.'' The former Prime Minister arched an eyebrow. 

''Bad, as you can guess, even if our external speech is full of promises they won't even be able to hold. '' Campbell seemed puzzled by Margaret's direct frankness. The way she used _they_ instead of _us_ emphasized the ditch she was digging between her successors and herself. She smiled.

''Honestly, I think there's still hope. Mr Major seems to know what he's doing.'' Thatcher laughed quietly, her cold façade beginning to soften. 

''You know, you remind me of Pierre Trudeau. Always too naïve and too optimistic.'' Kim groaned.

''Please, don't say that! I truly have nothing to do with him. '' She grinned.

''Oh, you have more in common than you think. I knew him _personally._ '' Kim sighed.

''Really, I can assure you that I don't -'' She began, but Margaret interrupted her.

''Oh I'm sorry, I have to leave. The others are expecting me for the dinner.'' Thatcher paused a moment before adding, with a less authoritarian voice. ''You can come to my room if you want to finish this conversation tonight. Maybe have a drink if you want to.'' She patted her shoulder again and smiled softly. ''Room 64. And don't be too early.''

-

Kim took a long time to understand what she was doing.   
The wine was very good and the chocolate delicious, but combined together in Margaret Thatcher's mouth, they tasted even better. The Canadian didn't remember who kissed who first. As if she cared anyway. She couldn't tell if Margaret was drunk, just that her skin was excessively hot against her own. Neither could Kim recognise the woman who delivered a serious and intricate speech only a few hours ago.  
The Canadian stroked Thatcher's hair and licked her bottom lip. They were both sitting on the large bed, and Margaret leaned slowly over Kim, forcing her to sit back. She pressed her chest and kissed her neck. Campbell shivered at first but then she slid an arm around Thatcher's shoulders to express her consent. The former Prime Minister breathed heavily against her ear.

''If it's not what you want, leave now. I don't want to be in trouble because of you.'' Thatcher withdrew her lips from Kim's neck and her blues eyes settled on hers. Campbell looked puzzled by her words, and Margaret felt obliged to show more kindness toward a woman who's been very soft with her. 

''And I don't want you to be in trouble because of me.'' She smiled softly and Kim raised a hand to stroke her cheek.   
The Canadian has been with several women before, but in front of Margaret Thatcher, she felt so fascinated that she came to forget everything. She didn't dare to ask if the former Prime Minister has ever been with a woman before, even if Thatcher's confidence with her was rather surprising. 

''Are you sure you won't regret?'' She asked again. Campbell smiled.

''I'm sure I won't. You're... You're marvellous...''Margaret paused a second. A strange thrill ran along her spine as she recognised the words that the Queen whispered into her ear almost a decade ago. She remained quiet and kissed Kim on the forehead. The Canadian slid her hands under Thatcher's arms and carefully removed her jacket, letting it falling on the floor. Her fingers went for her blouse and undid the bow under her neck. The light fabric slid along Margaret's arms, revealing the soft, pale and dainty skin of her cleavage. The former Prime Minister was wearing a beautiful red silky bra, and Kim felt suddenly miserable with her black and ordinary underwear. She straightened up and began to undo Thatcher's bra. Once the last clasp surrendered, she seized the straps with her teeth and drew them back slowly. Margaret let Kim remove her bra and began to undo her shirt. The Canadian blushed when she fully opened it and saw her underwear. She predicted a mean comment, something about _Canada's poor undergarments_ or about _Trudeau's legacy,_ but Thatcher smiled and lowered her head to kiss her breast. Kim moaned softly and bit her lips. 

''Alright, Margaret whispered. I'm asking you one last time. Is this really what you want?'' Campbell grinned and kissed her cheek. 

''This is _exactly_ what I want. I couldn't be happier right now.'' Thatcher smiled.

''Good. That's all what I wanted to hear. Now, keep your mouth shut enjoy some _British conservatism._ '' The Canadian laughed softly and cupped Margaret's face.

''Show me then.'' The last glance Thatcher gave her before her face disappeared between Kim's thighs was full of mischief. She lifted her skirt up and removed her knickers. The older woman started to kiss the white skin of her inner thighs; Campbell moaned lightly. Her mouth moved to the fold of her leg and she nibbled tenderly the inches offered to her.   
Kim let out a loud groan as she felt Margaret's tongue reaching her clit. She set her mouth against her cunt and placed a hand on Kim's belly. She stirred her tongue again, gently at first, then she began to move faster and used her teeth. The Canadian panted heavily, her hips rocked unconsciously against Thatcher's mouth, intending to bring her tongue deeper. The former Prime Minister got the message and smiled against the smooth skin of her thighs before sliding two fingers inside, sufficient substitute for something she couldn't give.   
Kim's body writhed around her hand, and she covered her mouth with her fist to prevent the boisterous moans from spreading into the room. Margaret arched her fingers and licked her clit. The Canadian jumped and bit her hand with all her might. Her body was literally convulsing, and for a moment, the former Prime Minister thought Kim was having a heart attack. She couldn't move, bent over, but was still breathing loudly. Thatcher crept next to her and slid an arm around Campbell's shoulders.

''Are you alright? Do I have to call an ambulance?'' The Canadian replied in a stifled grunt and turned around slowly to bury her face against Margaret's cleavage. The older woman smiled for herself and stroked Kim's hair, tangling her fingers into the dishevelled light curls. 

''You see now, how to get things done? But I have to be honest, it works like this here, but it could be the same everywhere. The idea is to put some women in power. I'm not saying that _every_ women should be in power, but _some of them_ can, and in an excellent way. '' The Canadian, who was progressively coming to herself, nodded silently.

''As you may have seen, women have a very different way to deal with power. Maybe a more subtle... and _delicate_ way?'' Her hand was purposefully brushing Kim's shoulder. She shivered and mumbled her agreement against Thatcher's skin. 

''Why aren't you Prime Minister yet?'' This time, the Canadian opened her mouth to reply. 

''Oh... I don't know. Maybe because I think... because I _thought_ that a woman couldn't be Prime Minister of such a big country...'' Margaret laughed softly. 

''What do you think I had in mind before 1979?'' Kim smiled.

''But now, and thanks to you, it's easier for women to succeed in politics.'' The older woman stroked her neck.

''Maybe, but remember a very important thing: you have to fight a battle more than once to win it, and this battle is certainly not over!'' 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a mess  
> BUT  
> I hope you'll enjoy and ignore the mistakes :) Feel free to leave a comment if you liked the story, and I'll be more happy and less shameful! ♥


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